


How Do You Spell Love?

by FleabagThenardier



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: A. A. Milne - Freeform, F/M, House at Pooh Corner, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 05:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20989376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleabagThenardier/pseuds/FleabagThenardier
Summary: The final page of House At Pooh Corner that the Priest ripped out and his scrawls written on the back.





	1. Big Reader with New Friends

Fleabag vowed to never return to the Church, or any Church for that matter, but here she found herself pacing outside the doors of his Church. She desperately needed answers, as any attempts of closure she had made had now been undone and torn to pieces. It started three days ago during a jog, she had managed to force herself into, through the cemetery passing by her mother’s grave. She thought it was a dream at first, or an unholy apparition that deceived her eyes, but sadly her eyes were not deceiving her. It was him. He was dressed in his usual casual attire. He looked well; healthy her father would say. His “friend” who walked beside him also looked well, walking in step with him, and really taking in everything he said as if his words meant a lot. On the outside there was nothing peculiar about a Priest taking a stroll with a parishioner through a graveyard, but it did feel out of the ordinary for the self-confessed ‘_big reader with no friends’. _

As she entered through the Church doors, she felt an overwhelming feel of dread. It had been three months since she had last set foot in the Church, three months since she gave her last less-than-holy confession, and three months since he had banned her from entering the premise. As she looked around the grandeur of the building, she noted that nothing had changed. The Church had continued to run business-as-usual, unaffected by events that had occurred between them; she wondered if this was also true of the Priest.

The second time she was aware of the Priest and his companion was through her sister. Whilst settling down to drown her sorrows in front of her laptop with a M&S mojito, for he had truly ruined the enjoyment of a G&T, she received the phone call. She had considered ignoring her phone but given the recent medical updates of her father it wasn’t wise. Claire had gone to pick up creepy stepson Jake and saw them chatting at the back of the church together. Who was she? Why was she lingering in the Church with him? Why … her? The phone call had left Fleabag with a ton of questions and a dull ache in her chest. Her sister didn’t intend to cause concern with these findings as they only came from a place of love.

> _‘He looked very happy with her.’, _thank you for that insight.
> 
> _‘I’m just saying, I’ve only ever seen him that happy with you’, _brilliant.
> 
> _‘I think you should speak to him’, _no, definitely not!
> 
> _‘She was quite pretty’ _…
> 
> _‘You should speak to him’, _goodbye Clare.

The hum of bass echoed through the Church, he’s in. She took a deep breath before slowly walking down the aisle heading towards the alter. She had never felt this uneasy in a Church before but given the circumstances she thought it was acceptable. It had only been less than 2 hours since she saw the Priest, and his friend. She had gone to M&S to pick up something edible from the reduced discount section, followed quickly by a trip to her favourite aisle. Luckily, she had heard the familiar, warm sound of his laugh before she could walk down the aisle. She observed from a distance as he reached up to the top shelf, revealing his midriff, to obtain cans of G&T. She laughed as he put them into their overflowing basket. Claire was right, he did look happy with her, very happy. Suddenly he looked to his watch and swore at it. Fleabag would have laughed at his blasphemy if her heart wasn’t suddenly overcome with hurt and disbelief.

As she neared closer to the vestry the sound of music and laughter amplified. The pit of doom and questioning in her stomach ached. She clenched her fists and tried to control her laboured breathing. She didn’t want to go in. Or at least she wanted to stop for a moment and take some time to think about what she was going to say, how she would react to hundreds of different excuses he could potentially give her, but her legs continued to walk as if of their own mind.

He had his back to the room, rummaging through scraps of paper looking for something, whilst moving his hips from side to side in rhythm with the music, humming along to the song. His friend was looking through the CD rack beside the stereo, “Oh God you have such bad taste”, she teased to him. He responded back with a deep chuckle. They were happy, so happy in fact. Fleabag took a step back from her position in the doorway when she heard a voice.

“Hello, can I help you?”. It was her. She sounded polite, and kind, and authoritative. The confused look on her face answered one of Fleabag’s questions, the Priest never mentioned her to his new friend.

“I…”. The Priest dropped the papers in his hand. How could he not recognise her voice. He took a deep breath, preparing for the onslaught to come, and turned to face Fleabag. His face dropped as soon as he did. She looked tired, exhausted in fact, and skinny, far skinnier than she had been. He noticed the dark bags under her eyes, as they locked eyes, and felt guilt wash upon him. Her face that at first seemed sad and confused was now filled with rage and acceptance.

The music came to a halt.

“Hi”, he finally muttered. Fleabag looked to the female and back to the Priest. No words were spoken but he received the message. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh really, because from where I’m standing it’s quite clear Father”

“It’s not.” He sighed at her use of his honorific. “This isn’t” he started, gesturing to his friend.

“Don’t lie to me!” she shouted, her voice echoing through the room. “I saw you” she added, eyes still locked on his.

“What?”

“I saw you both in the supermarket. You kissed her”.

The Priest’s friend looked at Fleabag with even more confusion, the Priest however knew exactly the moment she was referring to. He had lost track of time whilst shopping and needed to head over to the local retirement home’s chaplaincy. He had kissed her on the cheek when saying goodbye and thanking her for continuing their shopping whilst he dashed. A normal occurrence from the outside but he could see why she was hurt, or at least confused. He brought his hands to cover his eyes and shook his head.

“Maybe I could explain”, the soft voice from the corner came to break the burning tension between Fleabag and the Priest.

Fleabag turned her body so that she was now addressing them both, “No, I’m done. I shouldn’t have come here”. She then glanced her eyes back to the Priest one final time, “Goodbye Father”, before making her exit. Sensing he was following her, she started to run down the aisle trying her best to control her emotions and blocking out the cries of the Priest. She didn’t believe in fate but was relieved such a thing may have occurred when the bus was waiting for her at the bus stop. The Priest was a few seconds late and could do nothing but stand with his head in his hands as he watched his biggest regret ride away into the distance without the knowledge he needed her to have.

The bus journey was uneventful as she tried her best to dismiss any thoughts of the past and think solely of her aim for the evening, getting ridiculously drunk and passing out on a preferably soft surface. She almost missed her stop but luckily aggressive manspreader sitting beside her woke her from her groggy state. As she stepped off from the bus, still dazed from her journey, she gasped by what presented itself before her.

“What are you doing here?” she managed to finally say after staring into his dark, potentially soulless, eyes. She didn’t know whether to be more confused on what he was doing here or how he managed to get here quicker than her.

“I need to explain to you” he protested.

“Nope, you don’t have to explain anything to me”, she threw at him whilst exiting the bus stop.

She had attempted to make a strong, swift dash to her café, which was conveniently only a 2-minute run from the bus stop, but the pleading voice behind her made her weak.

“For fucks sake, please just let me explain”

She quickly turned around to face him, hoping to get the explanations done and dusted. She gulped and managed to say, with an attempt of conviction, “Look, I’m happy for you”.

“She’s my sister”

“What?”

“She was passing through London; didn’t realise I was working in the parish here and came back to visit as soon as she found out. Look I’m, this isn’t important, are you...”

“Wait, you have a sister?”

“Well, ex-sister-in-law. She was married to my brother before the whole, you know”. He takes a moment to catch his breath, “paedophile thing”. Fleabag felt her face turn pale. “She was distraught, blamed herself for not realising her husband was, well. I helped her a lot. I still lived in Ireland at the time, so I was able to help her through the worse of it. You know, it was then when I realised, I was actually quite good at giving advice” he laughs the admission off. “Just not necessarily any good at taking it myself. We were close but lost touch when I left for the church”.

Fleabag realised this was the most he had ever spoke about his past. It felt painful and still raw. She suddenly remembered that she had accused him and felt guilty for even considering. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“It’s fine” the priest says shaking his head, before taking a seat at the bus stop and releasing a deep breath. He very rarely spoke about his past. Put simply he thought it better to keep it supressed, rather than deal with the emotional fatigue it brought him. But this felt different. It was her he was talking to. He tapped to the bus seat beside him, gesturing for her to take a seat.

She resoundingly slumped into the seat when déjà vu hit her, _‘Please don’t come to the church, I mean that with the greatest of compliments’._ She lurched forward, dropping her head to her hands resting on her knees. Why the hell did I go to the church? Why didn’t I just leave him alone like he asked. She groaned a little before sitting herself back up, realising he was watching her every movement.

“I’m sorry for coming to the church and accusing you” she said, now facing him. She paused for a split second as she replayed her words in her head. Jesus it made her sound possessive, like he couldn’t be with other women. I mean technically he couldn’t because he did choose God, but it wasn’t as if he was attached to her. The priest chirped up before her thought process could digress any further.

“Wait, were you jealous?” he chuckles.

“No!”. That was obviously a lie. “I mean, you did choose God over me, and then another woman comes along and it feels like, well”. She could feel his eyes questioning her next sentence. “I wasn’t good enough”.

He softly responds, “You are good enough”.

“But not good enough to beat God”, she fires back at him.

He closes his eyes and winces. This was exactly where he didn’t want the conversation to go.

“You should get back to him, God”.

He looks deeply into her eyes and sighs, visibly annoyed at her insinuation even though he had no right to be. “Fine” he mutters before standing up, readjusting his cassock and gathering his bearings.

“Is this the part where you leave me at the bus stop again?”

“Oh, for fucks sake! I’m sorry!”.


	2. This Isn't God

Fleabag remained still and silent, frozen to her seat at the Priest’s outburst. The priest put his head in his hands and shook his head. “No, no”, he repeatedly muttered under his breath. He was ashamed and angry. He didn’t mean to lash out at her, Jesus it was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Just come with me” he said without thinking.

“What?”

He dropped his hands from his head and reached out for her hand, “Come with me, meet my sister, properly”

“What?”

“Please”. Those eyes. "She might finally get off my case that I’m lonely and have no fucking friends”, he chuckled to himself briefly and shrugged his shoulders. “That’s if you want to be my friend?”

“Father, we”

He sat back down next to her, sitting slightly close than before, “I know I’m asking a lot. I don’t want to hurt you, and from the sounds of it I’ve hurt you a lot these past few months”.

“You haven’t seen me these past few..”

“Exactly”

“How do you?”

“Claire”

“What?”

He sensed a tone of anger from her. He knew he had to tread carefully. “She might have mentioned something when picking up Jake. It’s nice they still have a relationship considering”

“Yeah it is. Wait, Claire spoke to you about me?”

“No” he answered a little too quickly. “Well yes, but only because I asked after you, and she obviously cares for your well being”.

“What did she say?”

“That you weren’t doing too great”. He left that in the air lingering for a moment. “And, that me banishing you from the church may have had something to do with it”.

Fleabag looked down, avoiding making eye contact with him. “When?”

He felt the guilt ride up from the pit of his stomach to his throat. He never meant to leave it this long, but he couldn’t bring himself to face up to the mess he had left her in, as that would also mean facing up to the mess he created for himself, “About two months ago”.

Fleabag responded with a silent nod. The Priest sensed it was filled with hurt.

He took a second to reflect on his selfishness. It was a priest’s job to administer the sacraments and care for the people in his flock, for he was their shepherd. She was a part of that flock, and he had done wrong by his vocation by neglecting her in her darkest hour. He was a coward, and she didn’t deserve any of this.

He reached down to take her hand, that was resting on her lap, and held on to it tightly. He suddenly faced his own déjà vu. For too often he preached for truth and yet he left that night preaching a lie; a lie that instead of providing comfort provided endless amounts of pain, and not only for her. He would never forgive himself.

He suddenly felt heavy as he realised Fleabag was staring at him, or more specifically the tear that had fell from his left eye. He took a deep breath before facing her. Her eyes were beautiful, but sad and longing for understanding. He licked his lip and began his apology, “I’m sorry”. He squinted his eyes in attempt to stop any more liquid from escaping, “I’m sorry for hurting you all this time; I was selfish to not come sooner, and”. He clears his throat, “I’m sorry for lying to you”.

Fleabag’s expression continued to look for understanding. He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud, not again. Instead he stayed gazing at her eyes, repeating the phrase in his head, haunting himself with the memories from that night. It brought another tear; he felt at a complete loss.

She knew exactly what lie he was talking about, ‘_it’ll pass’_. She nodded her head, affirming she knew what he was playing on repeat in his own mind, and looked to the ground. She felt tears of her own forming. He squeezed her hand tighter and closed his eyes as he let his head fall back. The tears forming at his eyes were now running down his cheek.

“Fuck” he muttered, as he tried to wipe his red, swollen eyes with his free hand. A swift attempt to clear his selfish sorrow before she could take pity, but she had already raised her head at the outburst of his blasphemy. She laughed softly at his frantic wiping and looked down at their interlocked hands, “What now?”.

“I don’t know… You could come prove to my sister I’m not a fucking loner”. She laughed again. “I’m joking”. Although, he insisted he was joking she knew there was some sincerity in that request. “I don’t know” he repeated, exasperated, “But this”. He raised their hands, still interlocked together, to his chest, and pressed her hand against his rapidly beating heart, “this isn’t God”.

“Then what is it?”

He leans into Fleabag and rests his forehead against hers. She notices his eyes begin to water again. He licks his lip and attempts to say “it’s you” but tears get caught in his throat and he can’t make the words out. Instead he closes his eyes, pressing his temple further against hers, and holds her hand tighter against his heart. They stay silent in this position for a few seconds. After weeks and months of longing for one another’s touch they couldn’t deny it felt good to be this close again. Hearing the priest sniffle up some remaining tears made Fleabag realise that as a good as this felt, it was wrong, forbidden, even worse it was forbidden by him.

“I can’t do this”.

He opened his hazy eyes to her sitting and pulling her hand away from his chest. He felt slightly wounded but understood.

“You can’t just come back after three months and say let’s be friends”

“I know”

“And I can’t, I mean, I won’t make you choose me over him”

“I know”

“You already made your decision!”

“I know”

“But I can’t just sit at this bus stop any longer and wait until it passes because it hurts in here” she said pointing to her own heart, “so much. Because I still fucking love you”.

This time he didn’t say it’ll pass.


	3. Whatever Happens to Them on the Way

The Priest reached into his pocket and pulled out, what looked to be, a scrap of paper. He handed it over to Fleabag.

“What?”

He couldn’t manage any words so instead simply nodded down to the paper, gesturing for her to take it. She shook her head confused and took the scrap. On closer inspection it appeared to be a page torn out of an old book. The Priest watched her apprehensively as she opened the page and read the text, it was taken from the _House at Pooh Corner_.

> _Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh’s paw._
> 
> _“Pooh,” said Christopher Robin earnestly, “if I-if I’m not quite-“ he stopped and tried again- “Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won’t you?”_
> 
> _“Understand what?”_
> 
> _“Oh, nothing.” He laughed and jumped to his feet. “Come on!”_
> 
> _“Where?” said Pooh._
> 
> _“Anywhere.” said Christopher Robin._
> 
> _So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest a little boy and his Bear will always be playing._

“It brings me peace” he said whilst she finished reading the final line. “Although ripping out the final page of the book is a bit morally dubious, I..” he cuts his rambling short as he notices she isn’t fully listening, and that tears were dropping from her eyes to the page.

“I still love you too” he whispered earnestly.

She looked up to him through her tears and nodded softly, before breaking into more of a sob, clenching the book page in her hand. The priest quickly put his left arm around her shoulder and pulled her towards his body. He softly stroked her head with his right hand and kissed the top of her head before she collapsed into his chest sobbing. He embraced her tight, resulting in her cries becoming muffled. She had never broken down in his presence quite like this before, he thought, and he was truly terrified. He recalled back to all the times he had tried to push her to talk about her past, her family, her demons, and realised that he was never truly prepared to give her advice that was from a clear conscience; for his mind and reasoning was always clouded by love when she was around.

She hadn’t cried like this in a long time. To be honest, in the past few weeks she hadn’t felt anything, just an aching, wallowing emptiness inside. He smelt good she thought, as she tried to control her breathing now that she was in safe arms. She was never one for cuddling or romantic embraces on the couch, but this was different. Being wrapped by the Priest’s sturdy arms, her hair softly being stroked and the gentle “hushing” of comfort she could hear humming from him felt so natural, but that was the problem; he was her Priest. She wished they weren’t sitting at a stupid, God-forsaken bus stop so that she could stay in his embrace forever, or at least for the rest of the evening. Sadly, that forever would be short-lived as the noise of the bus pulling up made them both abruptly jump up.

“Fuck” the Priest said as he let go of her and frantically wiped his face. She reciprocated, still holding the ripped page tightly in her hand. “I need to head back to the Church to make sure my sister hasn’t set the place on fire”.

“Oh”

“Atheist, you’d get along” he smirked. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yep”

“I mean, I’m sure she’s fine and I can stay with you, I just don’t have a phone to let her know I’d be running late”

“I’ll be fine” she lied, shooing him off to the bus. He followed orders and headed to step onto the bus. “See you at 8?” the voice, now behind him, shouted.

He quickly spun around to the annoyance of the driver, “What?”

“To meet your sister, prove you’re not a fucking loner”

He couldn’t hold back the smile that beamed across his relieved face.

“Are you boarding or not?”

“Shit” he says, hearing the very pissed conductor. “Sorry, sorry”. He swipes his oyster and goes to say goodbye, but the door is already shut and the vehicle in motion. He looks to his right to catch a final glance of her. Even though her eyes were red from crying and her hair a little flustered from his attempts at comfort, she looked beautiful. He was an idiot for letting her go. As he sat down on a seat near the front, he looked at his watch, it read 6pm. Okay, he thought to himself. I have two hours to figure out how the hell I am going to fix this.

Once Fleabag reached her café, she felt emotionally exhausted and fatigued. She didn’t bother hitting the lights as she walked into her safe heaven and pulled up a seat near Hillary. Dropping the book page on the table closest she opened Hillary’s hutch and carefully reached for her. She looked at Hillary’s ridiculous face before hugging the four-legged lovable fluff thing close to her chest. In the aftermath of Boo’s death, she couldn’t even look at Hillary, let alone use her for emotional comfort. She was glad relations between the two of them had strengthened since then.

Her eyes naturally drifted back to the partially crumpled book page that lay on the table. She wondered how he had come to acquire this book page. Was it a book that he had owned from his own childhood or did he recklessly damage one of the books found in the children’s corner at his Church? And when had he done this? Was this something that had brought him peace for a long time or was it a recent acquisition? Her final question was the one that troubled her most. Why did this text bring him so much peace? She assumed, as a man of God, he would find more peace within the bible but perhaps this was related to something that the bible could no longer bring peace for.

Hillary’s chattering grew louder as she started to fidget in Fleabag’s grasp. She grabbed a piece of cucumber from the side before placing Hillary back inside her hutch for a well-deserved snack. She looked up and assessed the state she had left the kitchen in prior her outburst. She would definitely have to clean that up tonight, but not before one more look.

She reached for the page and reread the text. _Whatever happens to them on the way … a little boy and his Bear will always be playing_. As she crumpled the note back into the original fold it was in, she noticed some pencil markings on the reverse side. It looked like numbers, she thought, no on second glance it was dates. As she reopened the page she scanned through the scrawl. She recognised the markings straight away, ever since the day he wrote down the address of his Church after their first meeting. She didn’t know what she would expect to be found scrawled on the back of a page torn out of a Winnie the Pooh book, but it wasn’t quite this. She dropped the page and put her head in her hands. She previously thought she was done crying for the night but she wrong.


	4. The Adventure is Going to Happen

Although she knew it was scientifically impossible for her heart to be aching at current, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was a scientific anomaly. Her soft sobs echoed throughout the café as she placed a hand on her aching heart and recollected her thoughts.

> _’07.05.18’,_ the date of the dinner party where I faked an abortion, punched my sister’s ex-husband, and, well, I met him. _‘Some people care too much. I think it’s called love.’_, damn. She didn’t recognise the quote straight away, but the words hit her directly in the gut as they resonated with one of the last conversations she had with her father. _I think you know how to love better than any of us._
> 
> _’09.05.18’_, two days after the meal, which must have been when I went to the Church for the first time to pay him back for the dinner. _‘As soon as I saw you, I knew an adventure was going to happen.’ _She again didn’t recognise the origin of the quote, but it did make her slightly chuckle that an afternoon of drinking M&S tinnies in the vestry, with a self-proclaimed atheist, gave him inspiration to write that an adventure was going to happen.
> 
> _’28.05.18’_, I don’t remember what happened that day, she worriedly thought. _‘Any day spent with you (and Hillary) is my favourite day. So, today is my new favourite day.’ _Oh, my goodness this must have been the day we went to the Quakers meeting, then we went back to the café and he played with Hillary, but then I sent him back to God. She wondered when he had written this note, given the eventfulness of that day and the events that took place in the Church that evening. As her brain attempted to recall the conversations, she had with him that day, she felt her stomach churn and a tidal wave of emotion hit her chest. _I can’t read a Winne the Pooh quote without crying, fuck._ These were quotes associated with Winnie the Pooh.
> 
> There were no more dates that followed the passage, except some badly written scrawl in the bottom right hand corner, which she struggled to make out. Presumably it was written when he was in a rush, or perhaps even drunk. The date confirmed it was probably the latter. _‘31.05.18’,_ the wedding. _‘If there every comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.’_ It was at this point that Fleabag dropped the page to the ground and broke down into tears. She wondered what state he was in when he wrote this. The smudged pencil markings suggested a similar state to what she was in now. Imagining the Priest hurting as much as she did, made her ache further. Why did this love have to cause so much pain?

The chiming of the doorbell made her jump.

It was him.

The man whose practically-diary she had just read was now standing in her café, gasping for breath, and she was not emotionally prepared to have this conversation.

“Father, are you okay?” she said whilst attempting to wipe the evidence of tears from her face.

“Sorry” he manages to spit out from his gasps. “I got off the next stop but then you’ll never believe it, a fox was just sitting there at the bus stop, like it was waiting for me. So, I ran and, sorry can you just give me a moment”. He bent forward and tried to catch his breath as quickly as possible. “Are you okay? You’re”. He gestures to Fleabag and her very visible emotional state.

She couldn’t tell him about the note, not just yet. “I’m just having a little cry to Hillary.”, not a lie. “What are you doing here, I thought you were heading back to your sister?”

“Well I figured it out and, actually do you have a phone I could borrow. I really should let her know I’m going to be late”. As Fleabag reaches into her pocket he quickly adds “and unemployed soon”.

“Sure, you can use mine, wait, what?”

He let her stew for moment in disbelief whilst smirking at her, “I’m not exactly giving up God”. He could sense the fear in her eyes, “I mean, I’ll probably look into the Church of England, but I’d want to take some time to adjust to everything and moving away from the Roman Catholic church”.

“Father?”

“Not anymore” he smirked again because he was enjoying this.

“Father, is this what you really want? Because three months ago you were certain it was God!”

“And I was wrong”. He knelt down in front of her and held tightly to her hands, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. I physically can’t get you out of my head. You’re always there in the back of my mind, you end up in my prayers, and you slip into my dreams when I manage to sleep”. Although slightly concerned about the lack of sleep mention she decided to change the tone of the conversation.

“Your fantasies?” she cheekily added.

The Priest shook his head in laughter, unable to control the smirk across his face and the blush in his cheeks. He looked back up to Fleabag and licked his lip, “Sometimes”.

“Just sometimes?”

He wasn’t expecting the conversation to take this turn, but he couldn’t contain his bursting joy inside. Although it was slightly alarming at the beginning, he had always loved her flirting charm. “Okay, more than sometimes” he confirmed. It was the correct answer as Fleabag had a huge grin on her face. He had seen her in so much pain in the past hour, it was comforting to see her grinning, even if it was about his less-than holy thoughts.

“It seems that I have been in your head for a lot longer than I realised” she said confidently. She decided this would be a good time to mention her recent findings. The Priest looked up slightly confused until she nodded at the torn page of _House at Pooh Corner_ which lay face down on the floor. His face turned a darker shade of red as he lowered his head into his hands resting on her lap and groaned in embarrassment. His drunken schoolboy scrawls that he had written, assisted with the help of scotch and his favourite fictional bear, when he was a little ‘too’ happy with life, except the last note of course. Oh God did she recognise the dates, of course she would have, he thought to himself. He had a soft spot for Winnie the Pooh, that she knew, but he didn’t need her to know he was writing down quotes that filled his heart with joy, just as much as she did.

“Was it before or after I punched Martin that you knew an adventure was going to happen?” she questioned whilst running her fingers through his hair. He responded with another embarrassed groan.

Fleabag stood up from her chair, pushing the blushing Priest off her knees, and knelt to the ground. He looked up and tried to speak but she immediately shushed him, placing a finger to his lips. He swallowed hard and gazed longingly at her. He raised his hand to her cheek and softly ran his thumb across her defining facial features as he leant in and softly kissed her lips. The soft kiss became drastically more intense, naturally, as a result of three months pent up sexual and emotional yearning they had both endured.

The Priest soon found himself lying on top of Fleabag, wishing he had not worn his cassock today.

As they lay on the floor of the café, both attempting to steady their breathing, they listened to the sound of the traffic in silence. There wasn’t much light in the café any longer, as the sun had set during the breaking of his vows.

The Priest was the first to break the silence, “How do you spell love?”

“What?”

“How do you spell love?”, he repeated.

Obviously confused by his sudden random questioning, and not in a coherent state of mind following mind-blowing orgasm number 2, she replied “I don’t know”.

The Priest chuckled and reached for her hand placing it against his rapidly beating heart, “You don’t spell it, you feel it”.


	5. Epilogue

As they attempt to redress themselves in the dark of the café they couldn’t resist catching small glances at one another. It felt like a dream for her, so much so that she pinched herself to make sure that this was real. She glanced at the Priest hoisting his cassock over his head, gazing down at his well-defined, slender body. For him it was less of a dream, more of a dream finally happening. He had thought about changing to the Church of England for a few weeks now, even gone as far to obtain some literature on the process. He had no valid explanation on why it had taken him so long to meet her, but he was relieved the wait was finally over.

‘I hope we end up somewhere comfier than the café floor next time’, he thinks.

‘He’s really got a thing for that yellow bear’, she thinks.


	6. Page 178 of House At Pooh Corner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final page of House At Pooh Corner that the Priest ripped out and his scrawls written on the back.


End file.
